Ice Eyes
by chinquix
Summary: It's the year 2023, and Arthur Kirkland is a young researcher in the Arctic. In soon becomes apparent, however, that there's more than ice and snow waiting outside the research station. Eventual USUK.


**Yet _another_ Hetalia fic. I'm terribly sorry ^^; Hopefully this one will be a little different to my others, but I can't promise anything. **

**Pretty much every Hetalia character will be mentioned at some point, but just to make things easier the main characters will be England, America, Prussia, Sweden, Finland, and...well, a whole load of others...there's too many orz If you'd like to request a pairing, then I'd be happy to oblige!**

**Please read the A/N at the end.**

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**TURGAVIK RESEARCH STATION**

**LOG ENTRY NO. 0182**

**DATE: **Tues. 11th Feb. 2023

**TIME: **23:45 pm

**TEMP: **-35 °C. Bloody cold.

**Communications Officer A. Kirkland Reporting.**

Peter, if you're reading this, enough with the midnight feasts. Francis has told me all about your nightly escapades to the fridge. Nice to know you're enjoying yourself while I'm stuck in this hellhole freezing my arse off, brat.

To any other poor souls still keeping up to date with this wretched excuse for a journal, I pity you and simultaneously fear for your sanity. I would say it gives me the strength to carry on knowing the suffering of myself and my collegues brightens up your no doubt miserable lives, but alas, sarcasm doesn't have quite the same effect when written.

Now then, I suppose I should record the day's events. That _is_ my job, afterall, if you can call it that. So, let's see. Wake-up call at 05:00 am as usual, big surprise, then a sumptuous breakfast of canned tuna and seal blubber. Staring at constantly flickering computer screens for 7 hours, then break for lunch. This time we're treated to _salted_ seal blubber. Gilbert finds a raven in his dorm of all things, God knows how it got there, then we're back to monitoring the computers. A good thing too, I don't think I could handle any more excitement (again, sarcasm). Dinner, you can probably guess what, then free time. And once again I'm on journal duty.

Apparently there's a field research trip planned for tomorrow. I can only hope it lifts the tedium a little, though I'm not expecting much.

**Communications Officer A. Kirkland Signing Off.**

Blinking against the glare of the computer screen, Arthur re-read his entry and groaned, carding a hand through his choppy blond hair. "Bloody hell, I sound like the Paranoid Android..." he muttered.

"Paranoid _what_?" a bemused and slightly amused voice replied, and he turned to face the smirking albino sat at the desk beside him.

"Android. From the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." A blank stare. Arthur sighed. "Never mind, Gilbert..." his tone was resigned as he tapped absently on the touch-screen mouse pad, before deleting and re-typing the entire entry, save the part addressed to his younger brother; he always enjoyed the chance to torment Peter.

A yawn escaped him, and Arthur rubbed at his eyes blearily, then cast a glance around. The cramped communications room was at the far end of the station, and at the moment he and the German were the only occupants. The rest of the research team would likely be asleep by now in order to be ready for the minor expedition the next day, perhaps with the exception of Ludwig, the station's engineer and Gilbert's younger and altogether more responsible brother. Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't envious of the rest of the crew; he'd had many sleepless nights lately, due to causes unknown, and would have appreciated any chance he could get to catch up on much needed rest. Unfortunately, being Head of Communications meant he was charged with the duty of keeping a watchful eye over the equipment that night, as they were expecting a call via satellite phone from the Head of Operations, one Julius Vargas, who was currently situated in Alaska.

Arthur screwed his green eyes shut for a second as he felt the beginnings of a serious headache pounding at the base of his skull, leaning his elbows on the desk, then looked up, startled, when a steaming polystyrene cup was placed before him. He glanced up, surprised, to see Gilbert stood to his left. He hadn't seen him get up; he must have dozed off at some point. The albino nodded at the cup, looking a little embarassed. "Tea. Uh, thought you could use it. You kinda look like shit." He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. Arthur smiled one of his rare smiles at his friend's behaviour.

"Cheers, Gil," he murmured sincerely, taking a sip of the honey-brown liquid. His eyes closed once more, this time out of bliss. "Ah. Can't beat a good old cup of tea." The albino snorted and returned to his own chair, opening up a game of solitaire on the monitor so that the usual display of fluctuating graphs and scrolling numbers was hidden momentarily behind a window of green.

Arthur settled himself into as comfortable a position as was possible in the stiff leather office chair, tea in hand, and let himself relax for a moment or two. He kept his eyes open, but allowed his mind to wander, thoughts settling on the barren wasteland that could be glimpsed through a single small, frosted window in the wall in front of him. A shiver suddenly ran through him, deep and unsettling and very much unlike a shiver bourne of the cold. It was one of those unpleasant sensations that, in his home country of England, would be described as 'like someone walking over your grave'. Sitting up sharply, a frown creased his brow as he rubbed the goosebumps from his arms. He felt decidedly odd, all of a sudden; perhaps he was unwell. That decided it. Pushing himself off of his seat, Arthur stretched out his arms then tapped Gilbert on the shoulder. "I can't stay up any longer, Gil. I think I'm coming down with something. If Mr. Vargas calls, sorry, but you'll have to answer it. Just remember to write down all the details he gives you." The albino grimaced, but nodded his consent. Arthur turned to leave the room.

"Hey, if I get in trouble for this, you're taking the blame!" Gilbert called after him, to which Arthur replied with a wave of his hand, then shut the door behind him. He half-stumbled down the long corridor to his own dormitory room, the strange sensation still lingering within him. As he finally prised open the heavy door to his room and collapsed onto the steel-framed bed, not even bothering to change out of his clothes, there was a flash of something sky blue against his closed eyelids. His mind had to time to puzzle over this, however, before he was claimed by sleep.

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_All personnel, report to the canteen for briefing. All personnel, report to the canteen..._

Arthur shifted under the thick blankets, blearily groping for the pillow and pulling it over his ears as the tinny voice resounded from the speaker outside his room. A few more seconds, and with a sound that was half groan and half disappointed whine, he abandoned any thoughts of sleep and crawled out from his coccon of bedcovers, stretching half heartedly and rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. He paused for a second; there was some niggling thought just at the edge of his consciousness, something he couldn't quite remember...but the more he tried to focus, the easier it seemed to slip from his grasp. Concluding that it was unlikely to be anything important, Arthur shrugged away his musings and readied himself for breakfast.

The canteen was one of the station's largest rooms, a rectangular area with pristine white walls and a tiled ceiling, above which countless wires and pipes ran unseen. A stainless steel counter seperated the eating area from the actual kitchen, and long plastic tables were spaced around the room at intervals, with nearly twice as many seats as there were staff members; the station had been gravely undermanned for nearly a year now, a situation that hadn't improved even with the introduction of Arthur and Henrich, an excitable filed researcher from Denmark. The current workforce numbered only 7 persons, plus Henrich's two younger brothers, Alexander and Nikolai; other than Arthur and the Dane, there was Tino Väinämöinen, a cheerful technician from Finland, and his partner Berwald Oxenstierna, the Swedish Field Safety Specialist. The station was run by a stoic German man named Charles Beilschmidt, who had brought along his two grandsons Ludwig and Gilbert. Ludwig went under the title of Engineer, but his role in reality was more like that of second in command. No one was really sure what line of work Gilbert was in, as he frequently seemed to switch between tasks, sometimes working in the kitchen, other days manning the computers with Arthur, and occasionally joining the Field Reserach Team.

As Arthur made his way through the open doorway into the canteen, he noted that the entire crew had assembled already, and internally berated himself for being late. A few heads turned upon his arrival, and Gilbert flashed him a grin, then attention was once again focused on the tall man stood at the front of the room, who Arthur realised was Charles. He silently pulled out a seat.

The imposing Base Commander cleared his throat, then adressed those gathered.

"As you're all aware, this morning we will be conducting a research experiment in the field, gathering core samples. A team has been assembled and your roles will shortly be announced, but before that I would like to have a little..._talk_ with you all."

His eyes momentarily settled on Arthur, who almost flinched under their stern gaze. The other members of staff were muttering to each other, confused, but when Arthur glanced across at Gilbert he noticed the other had turned even paler than usual, and was gripping his seat unnecessarily tightly. _This doesn't sound good._

"We are here to conduct research into the threat of climate change, a threat that has become all the more real in recent years, what with the flooding of Holland and the Canadian disasters..." here he paused for a moment, as if musing on these tragedies, "and as such, our job must be taken with the utmost seriousness. Now, while I am certainly not opposed to sharing the workload of your co-workers, I do _not _condone the thoughtless shifting of responsibility." Gilbert and Arthur exchanged a worried look. "Last night, we received a call from Mr. Vargas. He was expecting to be answered by our Head of Communications and treated with the absolute respect that his position commands. Instead, he claims to have shared a conversation with a half-witted idiot who didn't have a clue what he was talking about, and rather than asking for the required information spent an hour discussing the _values of German beer._" The albino let out a small squeak and sank into his chair, while Arthur let his head fall into his hands. _Gilbert, you utter twit!_

Charles spent the next few minutes explaining how Mr. Vargas had reacted in 'good humour', and that normally there would have been severe penalties for all involved, but as the team was already so short staffed, he had no choice but to leave the two unpunished. "For now," he added ominously.

Ludwig then took over from his grandfather, a crumpled piece of paper held in his hands. "The following people have been selected to join the Research Team," he read. Arthur, along with the rest of the room's occupants, leaned forward expectantly; in the normally unchanging routine of their daily lives on the station, such trips into the field were rare, so it was a big deal if you managed to get a place on the Team.

"First of all, Berwald." No surprises there; the Swede was Field Safety Specialist, after all. "Accompanying him will be Henrich, Gilbert," said albino gave a small cheer and punched the air, "and finally, Arthur." Heaving a small sigh of relief that his brief lapse in judgement the previous night hadn't cost him his position, Arthur allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation, then he and Gilbert shared a smirk. It seemed that being being part of a severely undermanned project had its advantages.

Ludwig had noticed their silent conversation of body language, and shot a glare at his brother (who rolled his eyes in response), yet he didn't draw attention to the two; he had the more pressing matter of briefing to attend to.

It was the usual thing, retrieving core samples from the ice in order to monitor the concentration of isotopes and carbon dioxide, among other substances, and as such the Brit allowed his mind to wander. After all, he'd heard the same talk several times now since his arrival at the station. He was dimly aware of the mention that they'd be travelling further away from the base than usual, a notion that quickened his heart, though he was unsure as to whether this was out of excitement or fear.

Other than that, it looked as if the trip was going to be pretty much routine.

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**A/N: ...I have no idea what this silliness is. It _was_ supposed to be an attempt at a darkfic, but I think I'm going to fail spectacularly at that...orz**

**I'll only continue with this if people are interested, as it's quite hard work doing the research for it, and I'm into my A-levels now so I don't have much time to write fics ^^;**

**Thanks for reading, and please review, the more I get the more likely it is I'll continue :D  
**


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